The Girl Beyond the Fence
by elenlaurelin
Summary: Cosette meets a girl she remembers from her past, and they talk. Mild CosetteEponine slash.


A/N: This is just a bit of fluff I thought up for absolutely no particular reason, other than I thought that it's sad that Eponine and Cosette are so often pitted against each other. What if the whole Eponine-Marius-Cosette love triangle thing really was a triangle?

It all started when Papa went away again.  
  
It was a week in late March, when the lovely garden we have at the Rue Plumet was just beginning to bloom, and all of Paris felt like spring. I had been rather run down and depressed during the winter, which seemed to me to have been the longest winter of my entire life. The young man from the Luxembourg was, of course, continually in my thoughts, right up until about mid-February, when I was distracted by the coming of spring.  
  
Yes, it was spring that drew me toward the gate that evening, although I am tempted to say that it was fate. The night was not unpleasant; not too cold nor too hot, but warm, with just a nip of chill in it. I must admit that the idea of freedom had entered my thoughts that morning when I awoke, and I hadn't been able to stifle it yet.  
  
Of course, I acted normally toward Toussaint, and, of course, she noticed nothing. As she often does, she went to bed early, and I was left on my own. Which allowed me to stand at the gate, watching to see if any carriages or fiacres full of fancy aristocrats would come by so that I could goggle at them.  
  
In fact, what did come was not exactly what I had expected.  
  
She came stalking down the street, looking for all the world like some sort of rodent, creeping along in the shadows, looking frantically all around her before darting ahead into the next bit of shade. I didn't notice her until she was almost directly across the street. Then, she made a mad dash towards me, and I opened my mouth to scream, before she had grabbed the front of my dress, pulling my face toward her through the bars of the gate, and clapped her dingy hand over my mouth.  
  
After ascertaining that I would not attempt to scream again, mostly by nods and whispered comments in some sort of street slang that I was not entirely familiar with, she let me go, and stepped backward. I was curious about this creature, who seemed to be half girl and half nightmare, so I leaned went to the side of the gate and leaned toward her. I was shocked and surprised when it gave way and nearly made me fall onto my face on the pavement, when the girl caught me.  
  
As rough as she looked, her touch was gentle, and she seemed as fragile as a newborn kitten, despite her street smarts and tough outside. The force of my fall pushed us into a beam of light from the street lamp, and we caught a glimpse of each other for the first time.  
  
She and I gasped slightly.  
  
"What, you're the girl from the tenement Papa and I visited a few months ago! You're that Jondrette girl, right?"  
  
"Lark?"  
  
I immediately stiffened at her calling me that; I hadn't been called that since before I went to the convent, and it was certainly a time which I would rather have forgotten. How did she know that stupid nickname, that name that the neighbors called me because I was so pitiful, how did she know me?  
  
In answer, she pulled my face closer to hers in the darkness, and whispered gently to the tip of my nose, "Remember 'Zelma? Remember how she used to play with us? Well, now she's in the can, and she's got her hand all cut up..."  
  
And I knew. That was Azelma in the tenement, that was the Thenardiess who had begged me for money, and...this was Eponine.  
  
"'Ponine?" I whispered, my voice quivering at the sound. As silly as it seems, even though I had Papa to protect me, that name still held a bit of terror in it for me, because although Eponine had never actually hurt me, she had always, since I could remember, been connected to pain. If Eponine cried, then the Thenardiess would beat me. If I tried to play with her, I would be beaten. I gave a little shudder. "You're so...different."  
  
"That man who took you away...even though I wasn't always nice to you, I know, I missed you."  
  
I laughed. "I was too scared of you to miss you."  
  
And we both laughed, her face so close to mine that her nose was almost touching my forehead, and my mouth coming ever closer to hers. So it was natural when they managed to find each other, even though afterwards, we both felt awkward.  
  
She stepped back, her smile gradually fading into that look of fear that I had first seen on her face. She looked like a puppy, a tiny, defenseless creature that had been hurt so much that it feared even those who were gentle with it. I reached out my hand, carefully, and brushed her cheek. The smile timidly returned, but it was not as free as it had been the first time.  
  
"Do you still live with the Thenardiess?" I must admit, my voice failed a little on that word. I was still scared of that woman; she still haunted my darkest nightmares.  
  
"Well, I was in the can-" She saw my look of confusion at her slang, "er, prison, for a while, but then I got out, and now I live wherever I can."  
  
"Can I visit you?" My voice trembled slightly.  
  
In answer, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into a shadow. Gently lifting my face to hers with her dirty, but infinitely soft hands, she murmured, "No...no. It's...well...my father might get out anytime, and 'Zelma or even 'Vroche might...well, no. But I'll come back. There's a person...I'll bring him, when I find him. That's why I came. So don't be surprised when he comes. But I won't forget you."  
  
Saying this, she reached up and touched my carefully-arranged curls. If it had been anyone else, I would have protested, but the longing way she looked at them nearly broke my heart. She wasn't ugly; she was just poor. If some things had worked out differently, then I might have been the one in rags, my hair hanging limply down to my bony shoulders, and my teeth threatening to fall out. She might have been beautiful, if things had worked out differently. I saw the glint of jealousy in her eyes, and pulled my pearl comb out of my hair. I then arranged her hair around it, and looked at the result.  
  
The good it did was minimal, compared to the filthy state of the rest of her, but it certainly helped. She looked at me with something like admiration, and slowly lifted my face to hers. Then, she scampered off joyfully down the street, and left me smiling in the shadows.


End file.
